


Night's Work, A

by fireflysglow_archivist



Category: Firefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-02-22
Updated: 2003-02-22
Packaged: 2019-04-29 09:19:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14469603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireflysglow_archivist/pseuds/fireflysglow_archivist
Summary: A nighttime job manages to go south, as always, for our fearless crew.





	Night's Work, A

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Firefly’s Glow](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Firefly%27s_Glow), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Firefly's Glow collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/fireflysglow/profile).

 

Night's Work, A

## Night's Work, A

### by mollyann

Disclaimer: I own none of these characters, except for the few random ones I made up. Everything belongs to the deities that are Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. 

Note: This story was written in response to a challenge created in the _Firefly_ forum at Television Without Pity. The challenge was to take the translation of a Chinese line and work it into a story. Keep in mind that I'm still trying to get a feel for these characters and their dialogue. 

* * *

Jayne had already tucked himself into bed next to Vera and was entering the first throes of the dream phase when he heard the comm next to the door crackle to life. 

It was Mal, and Jayne added this late-night disturbance to his mental list of Reasons Why Mal Is a Pretentous [ _sic_ ] Blowhard, Reason #83. 

"Jayne?" 

Jayne groggily rolled over and said, "See, Vera, this is why I got three locks on my door. Folks think it's okay to come disturbin' me whenever they gorram feel like it." 

"Jayne?" 

"Aw, what the hell is it, Mal? I'm tryin' to get some sleep here." 

"Well, I hate to disturb your beauty rest," Mal said, "but we need you in the cargo bay. More or less now." 

Jayne uttered several obscenities, some under his breath, some not. He stumbled reluctantly to his feet and made his way, more or less upright, to the door. 

Mal, Zoe, Wash, and Simon were all gathered in the bay by the time Jayne reached it. Simon raised his eyebrows as Jayne, still clad in only boxer shorts and a t-shirt, took his place among them. 

"What?" Jayne snapped. 

Simon shook his head. "Oh, it's nothing. I guess I didn't get the notice that dressing is now an option around here." 

"Hell, I ain't naked," Jayne said. Then, to Mal, "This better be pretty ruttin' important. Just because you're captain doesn't give you the right to go around wakin' everybody up any time you want." 

"Well," Mal replied, "I don't know how important you'd call it, but it's a job, which means I get to wake you. I just got a wave from a fella called Jameson, runs a penal colony on a moon off Marion. People on the world break the law, they get sent up to Jameson however long he deems necessary. He's usually got a regular guy does the transportin', but last week the guy wound up dead. Jameson's in the middle of lookin' for a replacement, but he's got a rather urgent haul. He saw we was in the area, knows our reputation for gettin' the job done. He wants us to transport the prisoner tonight." 

"Wait a minute," Wash cut in. "Our cargo is a person?" 

"A prisoner, yeah," Mal said. 

Jayne scratched his head, a gesture that he was wont to perform because it seemed the right thing to do when he was confused, which was often. "You mean like a murderer?" He wasn't particularly concerned either way; what interested him more was Simon, and the fact that he hadn't yet been able to remove his eyes from the nether regions of Jayne's boxers. 

"Oh, I'm sure that would be fun," Wash said glibly. "We could all trade amusing tales on the art of killing. Roast marshmallows, sing jaunty campfire tunes." 

"I don't know what the guy did," Mal said, "and frankly I don't care. It's a payin' job, which means we do it. We'll be takin' the spare shuttle. Doc, you'll be comin' along just as a precaution. Zoe, get on the comm, tell the others where we're goin' and that they're to keep put till we're done." He began heading for the stairs, then paused. "Oh, and Jayne?" 

"Yeah Mal?" 

"Put some pants on." 

* * *

"Ow!" Jayne grumbled. "Quit pokin' me with yer elbow!" 

"I'm sorry," Simon said. "I don't have much choice." 

"Quit fussin' around, kids," Mal snapped from the helm of the shuttle. "We're already two people over the limit for this thing, no need to make it feel like more." 

The prisoner had been picked up about ten minutes earlier. Mal, who had half been expecting some wacky turn of events concerning the identity of their cargo-as unfortunately often seemed to be the case when he took on a job-had been rather surprised by his utter unremarkability. The man was middle-aged, balding, and could certainly give Jayne a run in the smarmy arena. Other than that, there were no distinguishing characteristics to speak of. He had, apparently, murdered the son of some high-ranking local official. Mal neither knew nor cared if the murder had been committed in cold blood, tepid blood, lukewarm blood, whatever. He had been telling the truth earlier-he was tired. He wanted to get back to Serenity as quickly as possible. 

"We're coming in on the moon," Wash reported. 

"Alright," Mal said. Then, to his cargo, "Let's get you transported." 

* * *

Wash had never been particularly fond of water. If there was any actual reason for this aversion, some traumatic childhood brush with drowning, he didn't remember it. All he knew was that the 'verse was overrun with this pesky element and that he didn't like it. He had, therefore, never learned to swim. The great thing about being in the sky so much was that it afforded him maximum distance between himself and any body of water. 

So, suffice it to say, he was not enjoying his current predicament-surrounded by four very tired members of his crew and one soon-to-be-incarcerated murderer. In near darkness. In a canoe. On water. Lots of it. 

The wacky turn of events Mal had been expecting had indeed arrived after the shuttle had landed on the moon. As it turned out, the docking station was located a good fifteen miles away from the headquarters of the colony's main penitentiary, and these fifteen miles were made up, much to Wash's dismay, of water. A lake. The crew had been outfitted with a large canoe, three pairs of oars, six lifejackets, and sent on their way. 

"I don't like this one bit," Wash said, wringing his hands anxiously. 

"I know, husband," Zoe replied from two seats in front of him, where she had taken up one-third of the rowing duties. "Not much more than ten miles till we're back on dry land." 

"Ten miles," Wash repeated. "And then we drop this guy off and it's another ten miles, and then five more miles, till we get back to the shuttle. No, I don't like this one bit." 

"Hell, little man, it's just water," Jayne said, not breaking stride in his rowing. 

Wash attempted to tighten the strings on his life jacket. "Oh, I'm perfectly aware of that. Of course, when you're floating on just water there's always that little possibility of just drowning, and then you kind of end up just dead." 

"If you're afraid you're going to have a panic attack," Simon piped up from his perch alongside Wash, "I can give you some breathing exercises." 

"Thanks," Wash said, "but I won't be having a panic attack. I'm panicking, but there will be no attack." 

"Funny thing about rowing," Mal remarked from the front of the canoe. "Goes a lot easier if the people in the back don't talk." 

"Got it," Wash replied. "No talking. I'll marinate in my fear in silence." 

Five minutes later, Wash was busy marinating when the boat capsized. At first he thought he had dozed off and was imagining the scenario. Yes, it was a dream brought on by the potent combination of lack of sleep and prolonged exposure to his number one fear. 

He changed his mind when he felt the harsh sting of the cold water hit his bare upper arms. No, this was definitely real. 

"Zoe, help me!" he exclaimed. 

His wife floated calmly alongside Mal and Jayne. She appeared to be mildly amused by both their predicament and by Wash's frenzy. "Your life vest, husband." 

Wash flailed his arms desperately. "I don't think it's working!" 

"Gorram it, of course it's working," said Jayne, just as something else caught his attention. "Jesus, Mal, the ruttin' prisoner's gettin' away!" 

Indeed, the prisoner, whose handcuffs had somehow managed to snap when the canoe tipped over, had taken the opportunity to swim away in the opposite direction, back from whence the group had come. 

Mal cursed, then said, "Okay, Jayne and Zoe, we'll get in the boat and go chase down that coward piece of lao-se. Simon, Wash, you stay here and float. Won't be gone a minute." 

They were off before Wash had a chance to protest. He had since figured out that the life jacket did indeed prevent him from sinking. This realization had not, however, rendered him any less frantic. 

"How could she just leave me here like this?" he cried. 

"Mal said they'll be back soon," Simon offered unhelpfully. 

"But who knows how long soon is when you're chasing after a convicted felon? They might never come back!" 

At that moment another canoe, this one slightly smaller than the one Mal, Jayne, and Zoe had taken, came into view. Two older men were at the oars. Once they spotted Simon and Wash, the one in front pointed and declared, "I think we found 'em." 

"Found us?" Wash called. "Are you here to rescue me?" 

The canoe pulled up a few feet away from Wash and Simon. "Yeah, if that's what you're gonna call it," said the first man. "We just got word two prisoners broke loose, tried to swim their way back to the docks. Gotta say, fellas, you ain't none too bright. How far you think you'd be able to go past them docks, lookin' like you do?" 

A moment of silence elapsed as Simon attempted to assess the scenario and Wash gazed wistfully at the canoe. Finally, Wash spoke. 

"So, if we get captured...does that mean we can come out of the water?" 

* * *

Simon was quite certain that being captured in the middle of a frigid lake and sent to prison hadn't been what he'd signed up for after being so rudely disturbed from his bed. Even so, he wasn't particularly concerned about his own fate-he knew Mal and the others would catch up to them sooner or later and set things right. No, as per usual he was thinking of River. She was probably sleeping, and Book and Inara were there to look after her should she wake, but he still didn't like being away from her for so long. 

The boat had come into view of the shore and Wash was still unsuccessfully trying to convince the men at the oars that they had captured the wrong "fellas." The men were assistant wardens, apparently, though Simon had to wonder at both their competence and their sobriety. 

Simon had attempted to plead his innocence at first, of course, but quickly realized it was useless. He left Wash to the fruitless cause and instead entertained himself with memories of the time he and River had stole off in their parents' old, rotted rowboat and had to be rescued by the coast guard after the bottom gave out. 

"You don't understand," Wash was telling his captors for the umpteenth time. "I'm not an escaped felon. I'm a married man!" 

The two men chuckled as they rowed for shore. "Really," said the first. "Then why ain't you with your wife?" 

"I already told you. My wife fell overboard about ten miles back. She had to go chase after the guy we were bringing to you. He's a real criminal, by the way. I'm sure you'd like him very much." 

Simon returned to the rowboat. It had been River's idea, of course. She had always been the brave one. Given his upbringing, it probably should have bothered him that his little sister was more adventurous than he was but it didn't. She was River and he was Simon. That was the way it was supposed to be. 

"So you see," Wash continued, "this is all just a big, wacky misunderstanding. One that I'm sure could lead to many comical hijinks involving prison and dropped bars of soap, yes, but a definite misunderstanding." River and Simon had played a game on the boat. They were pirates searching for treasure, plundering whatever imaginary ships they came across. It was rather prophetic, thought Simon now. 

"Here we are," the first warden said as the canoe pulled up to shore. "Welcome to your new home, fellas." 

Wash glanced over at Simon and whimpered. 

* * *

Zoe focused on the captain's head as the rowboat cut through the lake. He appeared to be on the verge of nodding off. This wasn't good. She was eager to catch up to her husband and Simon as soon as possible. That poor man-she had always told him that he should take swimming lessons before it was too late. 

Mal glanced back at Zoe, Jayne, and the captured prisoner. "Uh, fellas and ladyfolk?" 

"What is it, Sir?" 

"Well, this is where we left Wash and the doctor, ain't it?" 

Zoe let the oars fall at her sides. Frankly, it all looked the same to her. "I suppose it is." 

"Then how come they ain't here?" 

"Maybe they drowned," the prisoner offered. It was the first he had spoken all night, and immediately afterward he glanced at his captors in turn to gauge their reactions to his newfound garrulousness. 

"Nobody asked you," Mal shot back. "Jayne? This is where we left them, ain't it?" 

"Hell if I know," Jayne replied from behind Zoe. "I'm tired." 

"Maybe a boat came along, Sir," Zoe said. 

"Huh," Mal muttered. "Well, I ain't overly fond of the idea of just leavin' this spot, but we gotta get this fella"-he gestured to their cargo-"prisonward. Let's push for shore, see if they've seen any sign of our wayward babes." 

The prisoner snickered. "Wayward babes," he muttered under his breath. 

* * *

Her brother had been gone for five hours, fourteen minutes, and thirty-two seconds when River saw the hatch to the cargo bay open at last. The captain wouldn't like that she'd gotten out of bed to wait for them. He might make that face. 

The captain, Zoe, Wash, and Simon strode in through the hatch, in various states of disarray and dryness. She grinned. Simon was wet. His favorite vest was ruined. 

"River!" he exclaimed when he saw her. "Mei-mei, what are you doing out of bed?" 

She waited for him to reach her. "You didn't come back. Couldn't sleep. Had to keep watch." She cupped a hand under his vest and let several droplets of water plop slowly into it. "Something bad happened." 

"Not overly," the captain cut in as he headed for the stairs. "Just a little case of abduction and mistaken identities. All in a night's work, really." 

"It was a wacky farce," the pilot added. "With a prison. Mal rescued us just in time." He grinned at his wife. "Do I get a special reward for being so brave?" 

"I think there could be something in store," she replied. She and her husband joined hands and followed the captain upstairs to the bridge. 

Jayne didn't acknowledge River's presence as he brushed past her. "Hell," he said, "I'm going back to bed." 

The End 

#### If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to mollyann


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